


And If We Dream

by minyoongitrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Death, Dreams, Drunk Dean, Ficlet, M/M, Other, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyoongitrash/pseuds/minyoongitrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~ A Destiel and the Stars fic ~<br/>Dean has never known how much he loves his angel before he was taken away from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If We Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is set right after Cas's death in 7x01, so it's not completely canon. It's also a different version of the same story that I posted on fanfiction.net, so if you see that floating around, know that it's from the same author and not someone copying another.

Betrayal. It cut him so deep that all the guilt, grief, and anger that had built up inside of him since he met him rushed out the moment his angel walked into that lake. It was a never-ending, sticky, and thick flow that gushed out of him, making him choke on self-loathing everyday.

Dean tried to find solace and peace in fixing a few cars at Bobby's garage and tinkering with his '67 Chevy Impala that he was so fond and proud of. He tried to ignore the image of tortured cobalt-blue eyes, endearingly messy and dirty hair, and a blood-stained and unshaven face that stayed constant in his mind. He tried to forget about the red-stained trench coat still wrapped up in the trunk of the Impala, serving as a constant reminder to the hunter of an innocent being corrupted. He couldn't bring himself to throw the coat away, yet he couldn't bear to look at it. He tried to lose himself in the work and alcohol, but he always finds himself thinking about the things that he doesn't want to think about: the times he screwed up, the times he turned Cas away, how Cas had betrayed him, how he had failed to save his angel. Sometimes, he gets angry and wishes that he had never met Cas, that angels never bothered the Winchesters, but almost immediately, Dean would remember that of the angels hadn't barged so rudely into his life, he would never had met the 'baby in the trenchcoat'.

During the middle of the night, when Dean thought that Sam and Bobby were asleep, Dean would sneak down to the kitchen, grab a bottle of Jack Daniel's, and just drink until those blue eyes faded away and he fell into unconsciousness on the hood of the Impala. The first time Sam saw his brother passed out on the Impala, he merely smiled sadly, put a blanket over his sleeping form, and left Dean to sleep under the stars. 

Every night that Dean slept on the hood of the Impala, the hunter would find himself dreaming of that lake where Castiel had visited him long before. The first time Castiel had visited him there, the skies had been light and clear. The second time, the stars had shone brightly and warmly as colorful nebulae swirled in glittering kaleidoscopes of color against the dark canvas. Castiel had had his face tilted up towards the marvelous sight above. Dean couldn't stop staring at how the colors transformed the planes of Cas' face, making him seem like the angel that he really was. It had taken all of Dean's self-control to stop himself from claiming those horribly chapped lips of his. He had wanted to make the moment last; there was no telling if Cas would freak and take off before Dean could even say 'pie'. His angel was unearthly, beautiful, and for those few precious moments, all of  _Dean's_ to feast his eyes upon.

Whenever Dean visited this dream world in his sleep nowadays though, the stars and galaxies were all but faint glimmers in the sky, monuments reminiscent of times when Cas was with him. They did nothing to illuminate the dead, still water, the dried and shriveled grass, or the bare trees that now dominated the landscape. It was as if every familiarity, kinship, love, and every other positive feeling that Dean had ever experienced at that lake had died alongside his angel. Even so, he keeps sleeping on the Impala; he keeps dreaming about this place. Everything had been sacred and stunning, and that it was all just barren and lifeless now only tore a hole in his chest bigger and bigger, sending pulsing waves of agony through the Dean's body. 

And so every night, the hunter mourned the angel he never truly had, the stars and galaxies draining his life away into a dark, deep void.


End file.
